


Sky Rockets in Flight

by Basingstoke



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: First Time, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:39:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2113692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basingstoke/pseuds/Basingstoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our heroes, bruised and battered, return home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sky Rockets in Flight

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to ZetaTauri for the beta.

Steve let Sam take him home when he was released from the hospital. He certainly didn’t have any better ideas. He was unemployed, his apartment was full of bullet holes and blood, and he had strict instructions from Natasha to lay low while she took care of the fallout. 

"You're frowning again," Sam said. He slung an arm around Steve's shoulders. "Come on, I have some beef in the freezer and beer in the fridge. I'll make us hamburgers on the grill." 

But when they got inside, Sam paused and looked at him. "I'm walking like an old man and you don't even have a bruise," he said, touching the side of Steve's mouth where he'd been cut. 

"That's how I work now," Steve said. 

His cheek prickled under Sam's fingers. He turned into the touch, just enough to feel the warmth of Sam's skin on his lips. 

"Do you want dinner first?" Sam asked, his voice low. 

"Not really," Steve said, and reached for him with both hands, and kissed him. This was just the same as it used to be, two soldiers in a safe place finding each other. It always started with looks, then you tested it out with innocent touches, then you moved in when you knew. Sam was tough as an oak under his hands, as steady as a rock, as reliable as clean water from the tap. He was a gift. 

Sam broke away and leaned his forehead against Steve's. "Bedroom's that way." 

Only a few steps together, smooth like all their other actions, like they'd known each other for years instead of days. Bold afternoon light fell across the cream-colored sheets through the sheer curtains. 

Sam started to pull his shirt over his head and winced. Steve finished it for him. A wide black bruise marred the smooth brown of his ribs and dozens of half-healed scrapes roughened his skin. Steve brushed his hand over the marks as gently as a feather. “You did good,” he said. 

“I know,” Sam said, beginning to smile again. 

"And you are beautiful." 

"I know." Sam met him in a kiss, long and hard. Steve stripped his own shirt off. 

Sam unlaced Steve's basketball shoes (Chuck Taylor brand, still the same seventy years later, but he was busy, no time to dwell on that) with one tug to each. He took off Steve's shoes and socks and held each naked foot in his hands for a moment. "You even have cute feet," Sam said. "I could have guessed, but seriously. Cute feet." 

"The serum didn't change them," Steve said. His hands, his feet, his head were all he recognized of himself afterwards. 

"What do I have to do to make you relax?" Sam said. "You're frowning again. Don't make me play sexy This Little Piggy Went To Market." 

Steve let his breath out and tried to stop waiting for more shoes to drop. "With that on the table, I don't know how I can refuse." 

"Well." Sam took the littlest toe on his left foot. "This little piggy went to Whole Foods and bought grass-fed beef to feed you when we're done, so spread your legs." 

Steve obeyed, shifting against the cool cotton at his back. "Kinda lacks something," he said. 

"I was winging it," Sam said, and bent over Steve's body. He kissed Steve again. 

He pinched Steve's nipple, which didn't do much for Steve, so Steve pushed his hand lower, over his vulnerable stomach, oh, he loved a strong hand on soft skin, and Sam opened his fly and brushed his knuckles over Steve's abdomen, where the skin was delicate. Steve slid his hands up into Sam's tight, cropped hair. 

Sam's skin was silken and his hair and tiny beard were sharply angled as French parquet. He smelled clean; the last time Steve had done this, neither man had seen a bath in a month. Sam had the kind of cleanliness that came from peace. 

Or the illusion of peace. 

Steve slid his hands down the thick column of Sam's neck, not lingering, and rubbed a thumb over his nipple. He slipped his other thumb down Sam's trousers and discovered a secret line of rough curls. They fell sideways on the bed, pressing so hard together there was no room for balance. 

The afternoon light shone dark red through Sam's ear and struck old gold highlights in his hair. A few hairs gleamed silver as he pulled Steve closer. "If I can't make you smile by the time we both come, I'm going to take this personally," Sam said. 

Steve inhaled, exhaled. "You fly like you were born with wings," he said. 

"No such luck," Sam said. He unbuttoned Steve's pants. 

"Like an angel full of wrath, beautiful and deadly, " Steve said. 

"You Catholic boys," Sam said, pulling Steve's pants down around his thighs. "All hung up on those damn sexy angels. Makes me wonder what I missed being Baptist." 

"Oh, a few things," Steve said, and he caught his breath as Sam brushed his cock. "Like....ah." 

"Mm-hm?" Sam said, kissing his jaw. 

"Absolution for impure thoughts." Steve swallowed hard. Sam was stroking him up and down and up. When he was a kid, he looked at the stained glass angels and wanted to touch them. He pictured them as smooth and cool as glass. 

"Son, please," Sam said, stroking him down and up and down. Steve gasped for air. He saw the streaked red inside of his eyelids, unable to keep his eyes open. Sam's hand was confident, strong; he was so sure of himself. One hand curved around Steve's ass, the other worked on his cock, and Steve came at the feel of Sam's breath on his neck. 

He smiled, feeling lighter. His spine felt soft as pudding. He had enough energy left to feel along Sam's thigh and cup his balls. He pressed up and Sam cursed in his ear. 

"Next time I'm going in," Steve said, which made Sam choke and come across his belly. Steve grinned. Sam was a man, a soldier, and only half an angel, the same semi-divinity that any human had. 

"You better follow through," Sam said. He snuggled against Steve's shoulder. 

Steve kissed him. "I will." 

*

They woke up later and made hamburgers on the stove and they were fucking delicious. He had grown used to good meat, now that he could afford it, but sex sweat added a lot of flavor. 

"You and Bucky?" Sam asked. 

Steve shook his head. "Too much a part of me. He's my brother." 

"So who was the last guy?" Sam wasn't smiling; he probably knew this could be a touchy area with another soldier. 

It's wasn't, though. "A French soldier. Jean-Marie. Gabe played his trumpet to cover the sounds so we could really let go." It was a warm memory. Bucky had given him the rubber and congratulated him when he came back. 

"Now that's a pal. I had a poster of him when I was a kid. Did he really carry the trumpet all through the war?" 

"He did. It was broken a couple of times, but we always found him a new one, because it pissed off the other side so badly when he would play hot jazz at them. Nothing the Nazis hated more than Negro music--sorry," Steve said.

"Negro makes you sound ninety. Say black," Sam said. 

Steve nodded. "I know. Fury told me." 

Which made Sam cough out a laugh. "Oh, I bet he did."

"He broke it down for me in detail. Personally. He didn't delegate."

Sam shook his head, grinning. 

"Something about the eye patch really makes you listen," Steve mused. 

"Oh shit," Sam said, giggling audibly and clutching his stomach. "Ow." 

"Cracked ribs?" 

"Yeah, just got to wait it out." Sam let his breath out in a long hiss. 

Natasha called, then, and said, "Get showered and meet me at Fury's grave in an hour." 

"Will do. Wait, get showered?" 

"You think I want to smell that?" Natasha snorted and hung up. 

Steve shook his head and pocketed his phone. "How does she know?" 

"Well, I was sitting by your bedside for two days. Not much of a stretch that I would tap that ass." Sam reached up and Steve met him in a kiss. "Take the first shower before I jump you again." 

"I think you'll find I jumped you," Steve said. 

"Who's the jumping expert? Go," Sam said, and Steve did. 

*

And Sam drove them home from the grave site because Steve had the image of Bucky's frozen face in his hands and he couldn't stop staring. "I'm going to have to learn Russian," he said finally. He knew the alphabet but not the words. 

Sam passed him his phone. "Look up 'Rosetta Stone.' Online language classes."

So that was step one, take a class. Step two, learn Russian. Step three, read the file. The file would give him step four. 

Final step, he would have a team, a purpose, a family, and a sweetheart. That was a hell of a prize to work toward. So he took step one and ordered the language class. 

*

the end.


End file.
